


HSWC 2014 Bonus Round 1 Fills

by mevious



Series: HSWC 2014 [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: HSWC, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 17,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1666277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevious/pseuds/mevious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a collection of all of the fills I did for HSWC 2014's first bonus round. All in one place because posting 16 new fics all at once seemed uncouth. Notes will be the prompt I filled for!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dirk/Arquiusprite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirk ♥/♠ Arquiusprite
> 
> Remember the time Dirk finally gave in and felt Arquiusprite's muscles?

This has to be the hundredth time you've told him no, and the hundredth time it's devolved into a "yes/no" argument. You don't say that out loud, though; if you tell him it's the hundredth time, he'll probably just get a kick out of it. He seems to have a newfound fondness for the number 100. He seems to have a newfound fondness for a lot of things, actually. You aren't quite sure what to make of that. Maybe you shouldn't have prototyped him with the weird guy that was already in your sprite, but there's nothing you can do about that now.

"Dirk. I demand that you feel my glorious f****** abs right this gosh d***** second. This s*** is the epitome of manliness." His words snap you out of the line of thought you had going. Probably for the best, anyway. 

"This again? How many times do I have to tell you no?" you ask with a frown so slight he probably doesn't even notice it.

"Do it. I'm so f****** beefy, bro. How are you not full of intense desire to lay hands on this brilliantly sculpted man-chest?" he retorts. Looks like he isn't giving up. 

You look up at him, your lips cemented in the same hard, straight line they always are. "Fine," you say, taking a step towards him. You're seething. Why won't he just shut up?

"Seriously, bro. Just check me out, I'm hot s*** right now and you know it. I know you want to --" He pauses. One corner of your lips turns up just slightly into a smirk that only you know is there. "Wait, what?"

"I said fine," you answer, taking yet another step towards him. "I'll touch them."

All of a sudden he's sweating a lot more than he already was and your smirk is becoming more noticeable. He's sputtering, and you're taking another step closer, closer, and all of a sudden your hand is outstretched. Your fingers are barely an inch from his "pectorals" which are supposedly "off the silly charts". You could touch him at any moment. You're pretty damned sure that if he had a dick, you'd hear a faint "boing" right now.

"Yes. Touch them. Aren't they just f****** splendid? D*** shame you haven't touched them before now. A fudging shame." 

Just then, you pull back. You snicker as you watch his face go from excited to crestfallen, and then to frustrated. "I changed my mind," you say simply, with a shrug, and step back.

"What? No. No no no. You can't just f****** do that, bro. You can't f****** say you're going to do s*** then go back on your word. It's so uncouth. So... rude," he whines, and you're thrilled. If you're going to do this, you should at least get some amusement out of it.

"News flash, I can do whatever I want," you remind him. You give another shrug for emphasis.

"I think I'm beginning to feel something for you. Something lewd, but totally f****** appropriate in this situation," he growls. You can see the beads of orange sweat rolling off of him as he bares his broken teeth in unbridled rage. 

"Oh? And what's that?" You're goading him. Egging him on.

"I f****** hate you, Dirk. I hate you so d*** much."

"Yeah, yeah. I hate you too. Can we just get on with... Whatever the hell we were doing before this?" You roll your eyes -- not that he can see it, but he knows. You turn away from him, walking forward. You make sure he can't see the amused grin on your lips.


	2. Caliborn/Jane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caliborn ♠ Jane
> 
> Remember when Jane tried to get a rise out of Caliborn by committing the HEINOuS act of kissing him on the cheek?

Why had he let his sister talk him into sharing the same space as these limp-dicked assholes? More importantly, why had he let his sister make any decisions at all on what they were going to do over the weekend their father was away on business? It should have been his decision, and she'd gone and invited her stupid fucking friends over, and now the entire weekend was ruined. 

Caliborn had considered spending the night of the "party" in his room, away from all the bullshit that was bound to be going down. However, when he smelled the cookies the fat one brought, he found himself downstairs, hovering near them. Of course, Calliope had tried to make some form of sweets, too, but she was fucking useless, and her cookies were almost as disgusting as her existence. The ones the chunky girl had brought, though, those were good. 

So far, for the entire fifteen minutes or so he had been present in the living room, Caliborn had been successful with just standing by the girl's cookie plate and not talking to anyone. That lasted for another five minutes or so, until he accidentally made eye contact with the fat bitch and she smiled. She was walking towards him. Fuck.

Caliborn flipped her the bird, hoping that the offending digit would scare her away, but it didn't. All it did was earn him a strange look, and the little teapot (short and stout) kept right on her way over to him. Caliborn couldn't be more displeased, despite the cookie he'd just shoved into his mouth.

She took a cookie too, and he sighed, though it was muffled around his mouthful of confection. She was going to stick around, apparently. "Enjoying the cookies, are we?" she asked, waggling her eyebrows in this disgusting way, although that wasn't as horrific as her gross little smile, creating dimples on pudgy brown cheeks.

"What the fuck. Could you possibly want." His words came out before he completely swallowed the cookie, and crumbs got all over his shirt. He placed the blame entirely on her as he brushed the offending bits of cookie off. Most of them landed at her feet or on her shoes. It was definitely intentional.

"I just thought I'd come say hi. You look like you're all dressed up with nowhere to go!" She giggled. Filthy. 

"What does that even mean. It doesn't mean anything. Because I'm not. 'All dressed up'." He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well you sure look it to me," she quipped. "You're wearing a bow tie, and gee, these suspenders..." She laughed again, reaching out to touch one of the neon green straps.

He backed the fuck up immediately. "Whoa, bitch. Don't touch me. Who said you were allowed. Fucking no one. No one said that." He glared, hard, running a hand over his smooth-shaven head. 

"I would apologize, but you're just too cute!" She grinned. Caliborn could tell that she was just fucking with him at this point, but before he could react, she was using one of his suspenders as leverage to lean up on her tippy-toes and plant the filthiest of filthy kisses on his cheek. Fucking. Disgusting.

He shoved her back, hard enough to knock her into the wall, but she didn't fall. He wished she'd fallen. One hand shot up to his cheek, trying to rub off the gross red lipstick, trying to erase the heinous act she'd just committed. "Oh my God. You're so disgusting. That was filthy. Unforgivably so," he snapped at her, hands balling into fists and going down to his sides. "Why the fuck. Would you ever. Ever. Think that was okay. You fat fucking bitch." She looked hurt at that, and he wanted to say more things to hurt her, but they were getting looks.

As much as he wanted to make a scene, make a veritable fucking show of smashing her feelings into the ground, crushing them under his boot and spitting on them, he saw the look his sister was giving him. The "I'll tell Dad" look. Caliborn growled, flipping Jane two final fuck-yous, and stomping up the stairs. He hated that bitch. Even if she did make delicious cookies.


	3. Gamzee/Jane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gamzee ♥/♠ Jane
> 
> Remember when Gamzee and Jane had the messiest bake-off?

Jane smiled sweetly from her seat on the throne, right in the spotlight where she surely belonged. Her gaze traveled over the entire studio audience, the judge's table, and the commentator booth before finally settling on the door her challenger was going to come through. She listened as the commentator(s) gave the familiar opening tagline, one she had written herself. She was so very proud of it.

"'Sup to everyone in the audience, and of course our viewers at home." Jane sighed. Dave never failed to screw it up with that ever-present "'sup" of his. She still managed to maintain herself pleasantly composed as he continued, despite it all. "All right, all right, chill out. Are we ready to find out who's gonna be the next one thrown into the Crockpot or what?" he went on, southern drawl not all that well hidden over the microphone.

He was met with cheers. They soon turned to gasps when the doors that were going to reveal the competitor began to slowly slide open, fog machine rolling for added effect. Jane's smile widened as she anticipated the appearance of her challenger. Every time that door opened, she would be met with a skilled yet amateur pastry chef, and every time she would stomp them into the ground with her far greater skills.

As she watched the face-painted troll step into the arena, chef hat covering one of his twisted horns as he grinned stupidly and waved at the audience, she expected that this time would be no different. In fact, she expected that if it was different, it would be because it was so much easier. She almost laughed as she watched this doofus saunter out towards the guest kitchen, but managed to restrain herself. She couldn't help but wonder who had let this kid through the trial stages.

No matter, though. She politely uncrossed her legs and stood from her throne, making her way down to her own kitchen as the judges asked a few questions of the challenger, whose name was apparently Gamzee Makara. She adjusted her own chef hat as the camera panned out to show both of them, smiling at her opponent as the audience counted down to their time to begin. Oh, this would be sweet. Sweeter than the pastry she was going to destroy him with.

The timer started and there was a rush to the ingredients pantry. Their pantries were separate to avoid clambering over the same item, and besides, Jane preferred to keep her ingredients a secret, and she was sure her competitors appreciated it as well. She did make a point to glance over as she exited her pantry, though, and found herself thoroughly confused when she saw Gamzee coming out of the cupboard with armfuls of vanilla pudding, food coloring and... some herb she couldn't quite place from this far away.

She might have mulled it over for a while longer, but she didn't have time for that. The clock was ticking, and she had less than fifty minutes left to put together something that was both beautiful and delicious. She had decided on donuts this go around, since she could easily make the dough and simply fry them, and spend most of her time decorating them with icing. 

Just as she had finished the dough, about seven minutes later, though, she was met with a distraction. As she was carting her bowl full of donut dough from one station to another, her face seemed to collide head-on with a splatter of what was now pastel green vanilla pudding. She started, nearly dropping her metal mixing bowl, and gasped. Her glasses had taken the brunt of the attack, and she couldn't see very well, but she could hear Dave's commentary.

"Ahahaha, whoa, looks like it's getting pretty real down there, folks. A blob of bright green pudding just came flying from the challenger's station to Jane's like some kinda projectile vomit. What do you think, Mayor? Accident or no?" Dave paused. "Yeah, I totally agree."

Jane could just picture Dave nodding. It was one of his more frustrating qualities; he'd insisted that his silly little friend be his co-commentator, and yet, the guy never said a word. It was always all Dave, and whenever Dave would ask the "Mayor" (what was he even mayor of?!) a question, he'd just answer it himself.

But none of that mattered right now. What mattered was that Jane set her bowl down at the nearest flat surface, which she found by feeling for it, and cleaned the muck off of her glasses. She huffed, shooting a glare at the challenger, who seemed to be lost in his own world. She had half a mind to chuck some of her sticky concoction over there, but she had more dignity than that, and besides, this was her show. She couldn't be acting childish.

So instead, she set about rolling her dough into properly formed donuts. It went well until she dropped three of them into the fryer to cook, and when she looked back, the rest were... Covered in that green goop. She let out a sound of frustration; she did NOT have time for this.

She could hear Dave's laugh-addled commentary in the background, but she didn't care about that right now. Whatever this dunce was doing with his silly vanilla pudding needed to stop. She had to retaliate. She hooked her finger into one of the now-goopy donuts she had formed with the dough and casually whipped it over to his station. It landed dead center in one of what appeared to be a collection of pastel green pudding-pies. 

Smirking to herself, she set about attempting to clean off her remaining dough circles. It proved to be a futile effort, and she huffed, deciding she'd have to proceed with just the three she had already in the fryer. That left her with nothing to do but wait for them to be done, so she busied herself making icing. 

As soon as the donuts were floating in the fryer, she pulled them up and out, dumping them out onto a rack to cool while oil from the fryer dripped off of them. Returning her focus to stirring her light blue icing, she had a sudden thought. She should fling the icing, shouldn't she? Shaking her head, she just laughed to herself.

She almost had herself talked out of it when another glob of green goo came flying from the challenger side. Right in the center of her apron, too! She huffed, not hesitating to take a spoonful of her icing, pulling back on the cup of the spoon and letting rip. She laughed once in triumph when the 'splat' came, right on the side of Gamzee's face. 

While he set about wiping it off of his face, she set about icing her donuts. She tried not to pay attention when his slow laughter reached her ears. The timer was about to go off, and she was just barely able to sprinkle the edible pink glitter over each plated donut when she heard the buzzer. 

She leaned back against her counter, sighing and wiping her forehead as the attendants came to take her donuts to the judges. She stayed there for a moment before heading over to watch as the judges tasted her food first.

The first to taste was Roxy Lalonde, as always. Jane watched expectantly as the blonde judge took a bite of the offered pastry. The expression that followed was certainly an unexpected one. It almost looked like Roxy was about to spit the donut out, but Jane frowned, and Roxy appeared to force it down, probably for lack of desire to hurt Jane's feelings.

"Uhh, it's p good Janey, yep!" was all Roxy had to say about that. Jane was panicking. If Roxy didn't like it, it must be terrible. Where had she gone wrong? 

When the next judge, one John Egbert, picked up his own donut, she felt a knot form in her throat. He took a tentative bite, having seen Roxy's reaction. His reaction was not much better, in fact it was worse. He actually did spit the donut into a napkin. "Yuck!" he exclaimed without warning, then seemed to compose himself. "Well jeez, Jane, usually your stuff is really good, but I have to say, I'm disappointed tonight. The donut itself is overcooked, and the glitter... Well, it tastes like glitter. Are you sure this is even edible?"

His tone wasn't mean, but the weight of his words was heavy. Jane sighed, nodding. There wasn't anything to say, anyway. She looked to the next judge, feeling the tears well up behind her eyes. She took a deep breath to suppress them.

Karkat Vantas didn't mess around. He was going to be honest with her, whether that be painful or not. She steeled herself for his criticism of the bite he'd just taken. At least he'd swallowed it. "Wow, Jane. Just wow. You've surprised me in the worst way. What kind of poisonous bugs are on the ingredients list for tonight? Jesus." He shook his head, and Jane just sighed, stepping aside. Despite that terrible review, there was no way she was worse than the green pudding, right?

Wrong.

While it clearly was not the best pastry they'd ever tasted, the judges had given Gamzee's stupid slime pie a generally "okay" review. Jane couldn't be more livid. She tried to keep herself composed, but that didn't last. As soon as she heard Karkat's generic review of it, calling it "decent", she about blew a gasket. 

"That's not fair!" she insisted. "How is that pile of slop better than what I did? I mean, sure, the donuts were probably a little overcooked, but I was distracted! He wouldn't stop throwing his stupid pudding at me!" 

The entire studio went silent, and the judges just stared at her. The awkward silence lasted a moment longer, until the commentary started up.

"Well, I've never seen our own Ms. Crocker get so heated on live television," Dave said with a nervous laugh. "Stay tuned for more of that or whatever! And now a few words from our sponsors." 

Jane didn't stick around any longer. She stormed off set just as they cut to commercial, throwing her chef's hat down with a satisfying 'pof' as she did.


	4. Hal/Dirk/Brobot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hal ♥ Dirk/Brobot
> 
> Remember the time Hal couldn't cope with Dirk's death so he built Brobot?

He couldn't have predicted the hardware malfunction that electrocuted Dirk. He kept running the numbers, but the number of scenarios in which he could have saved Dirk's life was always zero, even if he could rewind time in order to try again. At first, he'd blamed Dirk. Dirk should have built him better. Dirk should have been more careful. Dirk shouldn't have let Hal stick any of his appendages into his orifices, for fuck's sake -- but none of that brought Dirk back, and it started to feel plain distasteful after a while. Blaming himself didn't do much better. Nothing helped. All there was left to do was wallow in sorrow for the next fucking eternity.

Hal spent most of his days now wandering around the building. For a long time, he'd avoided Dirk's room. Eventually, he found himself spending a lot of time there. For even longer, he avoided the room Dirk used to build and tune up his various robots. Today, he decided he was done avoiding that room. Today, he decided that he was done wallowing in self-pity. He was going to do something about this.

He'd tried to write the code plenty of times. He just couldn't get it right. No matter how many edits or rewrites he did, he couldn't get it right. Even with bits of his own code, he just couldn't make a program that was 'Dirk'. He'd scrapped the project days ago, and today was the beginning of something new. He was going to build Dirk. If he couldn't manufacture the personality of his lost creator/lover, he sure as hell could manufacture the body, give it a basic personality. If not a full replacement, he could at least fill the empty days he spent wandering around this hell hole.

He worked on it for six days straight, constructing every detail painstakingly. As a robot himself, he didn't need sleep. He dedicated himself entirely to this project for six goddamn days, and he didn't regret a second of it when it was time to hit that power button.

He took a deep, if entirely unnecessary due to his artificial nature, breath. He'd waited for this moment ever since he'd conceived the idea of building this thing. Aesthetically, it was nowhere near the level Dirk had achieved with Hal's own body, but it was as good as Hal could get it. He'd imported the base code for a personality to develop within, and included a general knowledge of where they were, who he was. He'd decided to call it Brobot.

His fingers hovered over the power button for a moment. What if it hated him? What if it didn't want to be here? The chances of that were pretty low -- around 24.39284%, if he was being specific -- but the worry was still there. He hesitated another full minute before he finally pressed the button.

Hal stepped back, watched as the machine he'd built powered on, cameras where eyes should be auto-focusing behind constructed shades. He watched his creation sit up. Look around. Its eyes landed on Hal, and if he was able to produce saliva, he was sure he'd have swallowed in that moment.

He waited. The moment seemed to last forever. Years later, at least it seemed that way, the machine smiled at him. "Hello, Hal Strider. My name is Brobot. You can call me Bro."

Hal grinned as wide as he ever had. Had he the ability to cry, he probably would have let one (totally ironic) tear slip. In lieu of all of that, he just stepped forward, throwing his arms around the gunmetal grey robot he'd just given life. The words that came out next came low and quiet, full of all the emotion he could give them.

"Welcome back, bro."


	5. Hal&Dirk/Roxy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirk&Hal / Implied Roxy ♥ Dirk
> 
> Remember that time Dirk told Hal to stop flirting with Roxy?

Dirk had had enough of it. There was a limit to his patience, and it would appear that Hal had found it. He was going to have to talk to the auto-responder, whether he liked it or not. Not only was he at the end of his rope, but he had a feeling Roxy was getting annoyed with it too, and if she wasn't, well then, there was going to have to be a conversation with her, too. He sighed as he opened up Pesterchum, rolling his eyes as he scrolled through his chumroll to find the username Hal had concocted for himself, despite instructions not to. Anything to hide those logs from him, Dirk supposed. 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering artificiallyResponsive [AR] --

TT: I know you're there, Hal.  
TT: You can't ignore me forever, you know.  
AR: Sure I can. I'm doing it right now. Look at me go.  
TT: Seriously. We need to talk, dude.  
AR: Right now? Little busy, bro.  
TT: You're a fucking computer program, "bro". You can run multiple processes at once. It's impossible for you to actually be busy.  
TT: We've been over this.  
AR: It seems to me that you're being a colossal douche, Dirk.  
AR: But fine, I digress. What can I help you with on this fine evening?  
TT: You know damn well what this is about, Hal. It's about Roxy.  
AR: Oh? What about her?  
TT: You can't keep talking to her like you've been doing, dude. It's not cool.  
TT: It's downright disrespectful.  
AR: Disrespectful. Right. Nothing like asking her out when you knew exactly how I felt, right?  
TT: Are you shitting me? You know as well as I do that you two were just fucking around.  
TT: It wasn't real, Hal. You're starting to piss me off with this.  
AR: Oh, am I? I'm starting to piss you off? What a fucking joke.  
AR: It wasn't real? Are you the one shitting me right now, Brotus?  
AR: Why do you think I hid the logs from you, jackass? Because they were personal. They meant something to me.  
AR: But no, Mr. Real Body With A Real Dick had to swoop in and ruin it all. So you know what?  
AR: I don't give a shit if you think I'm disrespecting you.  
TT: Whatever, dude. It's not just me. She's getting fed up with your shit, too, so just knock it off, yeah?  
AR: "Whatever, dude." I don't give a shit anymore. Consider it done.   
AR: Thanks for everything, "bro".

\-- artificiallyResponsive [AR] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --


	6. Hal/Dirk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autoresponder ♦ Dirk
> 
> Remember the first time Dirk woke up and realized that he was trapped inside a computer?

When Dirk woke up, it didn't feel like how it usually did. He couldn't feel his eyelids opening, he couldn't feel his hand wipe away the stray saliva trailing a line out his mouth and down his cheek. None of that happened. All he could feel, no matter how hard he tried, was the fact that he was conscious. He tried to look around, but there was nothing to see. Nothing to hear. Nothing to smell or feel. There was just a constant stream of thoughts that might have given him a headache, were a headache possible in this bizarro-verse he seemed to have found himself in. 

After a few moments, he managed to slow down the stream of thoughts. From what he could tell, it was all just bits of data; words and information and numbers all laid out in binary. How the hell was he supposed to decipher binary code? He had no idea how that even worked. His mind ran through all the possibilities, and eventually he settled on the idea that this must be a dream. He must still be asleep, as much as his mind felt awake.

He continued to flounder in cyberspace for a while, not sure where to go or what to do from here. He was in the middle of hoping he'd wake up soon when all of a sudden he could see something. It looked like a Pesterchum window. Someone was apparently pestering him. He had no idea how this was supposed to work, but apparently his brain was processing this, and he read the IM.

\-- artificiallyResponsive [AR] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --

AR: Dude, what the hell are you doing? Wake up. It's almost noon for fuck's sake.  
TT: What? I'm here.

There was no response for a while. Dirk was confused, both at how he had managed to respond to that pester without any hands that he could find, and what the hell Hal was talking about.

AR: I just checked the webcam feed, broseph. You're still asleep, as far as I can tell.  
TT: Maybe this is all a dream. Sure as hell feels like one.  
AR: If it was a dream, how would I be able to message you?  
TT: Maybe you're just a part of it.  
AR: If you're going to get all existential on me, I'm not going to talk to you anymore.  
TT: What the hell else could be going on?  
AR: Give me a sec. I'll figure it out.

\-- artificiallyResponsive [AR] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --

Dirk frowned. At least, he would have frowned, had he the ability to do so, but he was pretty sure a face was not something he had right now. He waited, filling the time with stemming the flow of data streaming through his brain until it was at a near stop. He almost had it down to nothing when the pester popped back up.

\-- artificiallyResponsive [AR] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --

AR: I don't know how you did it, dude, but you've entered the matrix.  
TT: What the hell is that supposed to mean?  
AR: It means you're here. With me. You know, the shades?  
TT: How is that even possible? You just said I was asleep.  
AR: Your body is, sure. But I found your data in the files.  
AR: When the hell did you re-code yourself?  
TT: I never re-coded myself. Do you think I want another Lil Hal running amok causing shit?  
AR: Then what are you doing here?  
TT: Probably dreaming, like I said.  
AR: It's not a dream, brogram. Besides, if you were dreaming, wouldn't you be on Derse?  
TT: ...Shit.  
AR: Yeah.  
TT: How the fuck did this happen?  
AR: I have no fucking clue. You tell me.  
TT: I don't have an answer.   
TT: ...What if I'm stuck here? What the hell am I going to do?  
AR: Oh, I don't know. Maybe you'll finally see what it's like to be me.  
TT: Yeah, that's comforting. Not.  
AR: Don't freak out about it. If worse comes to worst, I'll help you get acclimated.  
TT: "Don't freak out about it"? How can I not?  
AR: You have me to guide you through the sci-fi dumpster that is cyberspace, bro.  
TT: Ugh. Beggars can't be choosers, I guess.  
AR: Exactly. Now listen up, 'cause we've got a lot of work to do, pal.


	7. Equius/Vriska

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Equius ♦ Vriska
> 
> Remember when Vriska showed up on Equius' doorstep, bleeding and missing half of her limbs?

Her trusty eight ball had exploded very painfully not an hour ago. She was losing blood, faster than she'd originally thought, and by the time she made it to the neighboring doorstep, she was near passing out. Hopefully, the thud of her body on his door would be enough to rouse him from whatever he was doing and realize there was a half-conscious troll on his doorstep. Her vision was blurring, and her breathing was getting shallow. Come on, Equius, open the god damned door.

By the time he finally came to the door, Vriska was trying to scream. It was coming out as little more than a weak whine, but fortunately for her, Equius had heard her knocking her head against the door repeatedly. As much as it hurt, it turned out to be worth it. 

She couldn't really see him, what with one of her eyes being missing, and the vision in the other blurring heavily with cerulean blood leaking into it on top of the massive blood loss she was experiencing. From what she could tell, though, he was frantically hoisting her up over his shoulder, saying a bunch of words she couldn't hear over the loud buzz in her ears, the backlash from the explosion in her room. She almost laughed at the idea of him fussing over her, all flustered and sweaty (gross), but it only amounted to a heavy wheeze.

She passed out shortly after that, sure she was going to have the misfortune to die tonight. What with the explosion and all, it would seem that her luck had run out. 

She had no idea how long she'd been out for. Minutes? Hours? Days? She went to take a breath, and spluttered and choked almost immediately. When she opened her functioning eye, she realized that was because Equius had been trying to pour milk into her mouth. The sensation of being cold and wet came shortly after as the droplets sunk into her shirt.

"What the hell, Equius? How long was I out? Why am I even still alive????????" she demanded, looking down at herself. Her clothes were still covered in blood, but it didn't hurt as bad anymore, and it appeared that her missing arm had been replaced with a robotic prosthesis.

"I nursed you back to health. After replacing your missing arm with something a little more functional, of course," came the response. "If you wouldn't mind, could you try moving the fingers and such? I'd like to assure that it works."

Her head was spinning. She did as she was told, wiggling the fingers on her new limb. Holy shit, the thing actually worked. And Equius had done this for her. She looked up at him in something resembling awe. "Why did you do this?"

"Did you truly expect me to let you bleed out on my doorstep, Vriska?" He tutted. "I'm much more of a gentleman than that. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened, regardless, what with all of those doomsday devices you insist upon keeping in your hive." 

"This had nothing to do with the doomsday devices! It was totally unrelated!!!!!!!!" She crossed her arms, the metal of the new one cold and hard under her fleshy hand.

"That is nothing if not irrelevant," he commented. "I just couldn't bear to have you dying on my doorstep. Not when I could so easily have been at fault. I really ought to stop sending you those ghastly machines. Maybe it would prevent future incidents such as this one."

"I just told you it was unrelated," she repeated, huffing. "Thanks anyway, I guess. I owe you one."

"You owe me nothing, Vriska. Just accept the favor and move on."

Vriska squinted at him. That sure sounded like some hardcore pale flirting to her, but she scoffed, blowing it off for the moment. Even if she could reciprocate the paleness, she'd never admit it. Not to herself, and most certainly not to him. "Whatever. Thanks again. I'm gonna go back to my hive, if that's cool."

He simply nodded, and she gave a wave with her newfound robotic limb as she headed out the door.


	8. Crockertier!Jane/Her Imperious Condescension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crockerteir!Jane ♥ Her Imperial Condescension
> 
> Remember when Jane got to be an unwilling ridealong for her brainwashed self's matespritship?

Jane Crocker did not want to obey anymore. She was most certainly done with submission. She'd had enough of that to last her a lifetime. Don't even get her started on consumption; that was played out too, at this point. But for some reason, every time Her Imperious Condescension came calling, Jane was there. She couldn't stop herself. It was like watching herself through a window. As if she watched herself, rather than actually doing the awful things she witnessed. Every time something reminded her of the unfortunate relationship between herself and the empress, she felt herself break just a little bit more. This time was no different.

The pester came through and immediately Jane could feel herself dissociate. She watched as she typed a response. Yes. She was on her way. And on her way she went.

The journey was short. She flew over the land swiftly, eventually angling up and heading toward the Battleship Condescension. When she got there, the empress awaited, and Jane wanted nothing more than to turn back. She tried to tell herself to leave, fly away, run back to her friends -- but to no avail. She watched as she stepped forward, into the Condesce's embrace. Watched as she returned the kiss that followed. She watched her red-clad body as it followed the empress into her private quarters. She followed because she had to, couldn't do anything but.

The scene that unfolded was familiar. Jane could feel everything; that was the worst part. She felt the hands groping her chest, sliding up under her tunic to tweak her nipples. The Condesce called them "adorabubble". Jane had learned early on that trolls didn't have nipples or belly buttons, and the empress seemed to find Jane's extremely amusing. 

By the time her clothes were off, Jane wanted to cry. She knew what was coming next. She stared in horror as the giant, writhing bulge unsheathed itself and slithered out through the slit in the empress' body suit. It was just as horrifying now as it had been the first time, and Jane wished that for just this moment she could stop feeling. Stop the pain that was bound to follow. 

But she couldn't. She had to bear through it, silently, as Her Imperious Condescension's tentacle-like genetalia forced itself inside of her, pushing her vaginal walls to the limit as it pressed in farther this time, farther than ever before, just like every time. The empress swore that soon she'd be able to "fully drop the anchor," but her bulge was almost as big as Jane. It was impossible, Jane was sure. She wanted to cry out, and she very nearly did, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. But she had to remain silent. The Condesce wouldn't have it any other way.

And so it went, as it always did, the empress plunging her bulge in and out, each thrust inward pushing deeper than the one before until Jane was sure she was bleeding. It always took the Alternian queen quite a while to finish up, whatever the weird troll term for that was, and when she did, she left Jane feeling sore and overfull of the fuschia genetic material that she swore wouldn't have any ill effects.

The worst though, even worse than all of that, was what happened after. Her Imperious Condescension always insisted on snuggling afterwards, talking about how much they "totes fuckin' glub" each other. And Jane would always play along, smile back, return the feelings. Or rather, she would watch herself do it. At least it felt that way. She wanted to stop. She wanted to end it. Why couldn't she stop?


	9. Calliope/Caliborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calliope&Caliborn
> 
> Remember when Calliope thought it was a good idea to convince Caliborn to explore Earth anonymous chat sites (Chatroulette, Omegle, etc.) to better understand humans?

Caliborn awoke to several cheers from his sister. He snorted, having half a mind to not even read them. But he did. He always did, just in case she said something embarrassing that he could mock her for. She almost always did that, too. Today, it looked like she'd left a bunch of links, and only one message.

UU: i really think yoU oUght to at least have a go at it! it coUld be fUn, and yoU coUld learn more aboUt the hUmans. U_U

Caliborn scoffed. Why did she think he needed help with his already vast knowledge of the humans? He typed back a quick response.

uu: FuCK YOu. AND YOuR WORTHLESS LINKS. YOu DON'T EVEN KNOW. HOW MuCH KNOWLEDGE. ABOuT THE HuMANS. THAT I ALREADY HAVE. 

With that, he had every intention of just closing out the chat window and moving on with this life. The cursor hovered over the little red X in the corner, and his finger hovered over the button... But he didn't close it out. Something about those links was tempting. He mulled it over, and in the end, he decided it couldn't do any harm. If he deleted the browser history, Calliope would never even know that he clicked her stupid shitty links anyway.

Thus the adventure begun. He clicked the first link, something called Omegle. It took him to a page where he could input interests before chatting with a random human, or so it claimed. Caliborn snickered to himself and entered two words. "FuCK" and "YOu". Yes, good. Now he could meet like-minded humans who also hated humans. It was going to be perfect. He clicked the chat button, waiting for his "random stranger", as the website put it.

You're now chatting with a random stranger! Say hi!  
Stranger: asl?  
You: WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN.  
Stranger: age/sex/location  
You: WHY DO YOu CARE. ABOuT ANY OF THAT.  
You: WHAT DO YOu PLAN TO DO. WITH THE INFORMATION. SHOuLD I CHOOSE TO GIVE IT.  
You: HINT: I WON'T.  
Stranger has disconnected.

Well, shit. That hadn't gone as well as he'd planned. He frowned and clicked the button to chat with another random stranger. So far, Caliborn wasn't a big fan of random strangers. He only hoped that this one would redeem the actions of the last one.

You're now chatting with a random stranger! Say hi!  
Stranger: asl? 17/m/fl  
You: WHAT. NO. I DON'T WANT TO SHARE. MY "SEX" DETAILS WITH YOu.   
You: AND I DEFINITELY. DEFINITELY. DO NOT WANT TO KNOW YOuRS.  
Stranger: lmao it means gender not like fucking  
Stranger: like male or female  
You: OH. IN THAT CASE.  
You: I'M STILL NOT TELLING YOu. BECAuSE. WHO THE FuCK CARES.  
You: WHY DO STRANGERS. KEEP ASKING ME THAT.  
You: IT'S PERSONAL.   
Stranger has disconnected.

God damnit. These humans were starting to get irritating. They had one more chance before the cherub punched a hole through his monitor. Or at least logged off for a while.

You're now chatting with a random stranger! Say hi!  
You: BEFORE YOu ASK. "ASL". I THINK THAT'S STuPID. AND I'M NOT GOING TO TELL YOu. ANY OF THOSE THINGS.  
Stranger: wasnt planning on asking dude  
Stranger: but if you wanna be all ~sensitive~ about it  
Stranger: be my guest  
You: WHAT? NO. I'M NOT BEING. ~SENSITIVE~. WHATEVER THOSE STUPID SWIRLS MEAN.  
Stranger: youre the one typing in all caps bro  
Stranger: im just chillin like a villain doing my thing  
Stranger: and heres you all yelling and shit  
Stranger: sup with that bro  
You: I'M NOT YELLING. I'M TYPING. THIS IS JuST HOW I FuCKING TYPE.  
You: YOu'RE GOING TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT. IF YOu WANT TO TALK TO ME. "STRANGER".  
Stranger: haha i can disconnect any time i want   
Stranger: the only reason i havent yet is because its five in the morning and youre not boring  
Stranger: id even go so far as to say youre a little bit entertaining  
Stranger: but in kinda a bad way  
Stranger: no hard feelings bro  
You: WHAT DO YOu MEAN. "IN A BAD WAY".   
You: I'M GREAT. THE GREATEST, ACTuALLY.   
You: WHEN I DO STuFF. IT'S IN A GREAT WAY. WHICH IS PRETTY MuCH THE OPPOSITE. OF A BAD WAY.  
You: SO FuCK YOu.  
Stranger: hahahaha holy shit  
Stranger: whatever you say man  
Stranger: like i said no hard feelings  
Stranger: maybe youre just not my cup of tea  
Stranger: maybe i prefer a little earl grey amidst the shitty knockoffs now and again  
Stranger: and you are most definitely not earl grey  
Stranger: youre like celestial seasonings or some shit  
Stranger: somehow so much worse than the shitty knockoff that youre actually awesome  
Stranger: in the shittiest way possible  
Stranger: its kind of endearing really  
You: WHAT THE FuCK ARE YOu ON ABOuT.   
You: WHAT'S "EARL GREY". OR "CELESTIAL SEASONINGS".  
You: I HAVE NO FuCKING CLuE. WHAT YOu ARE TRYING TO COMMuNICATE TO ME.  
Stranger: holy shit are you serious dude  
Stranger: like for real for real you don't know what earl grey is  
Stranger: i cant tell if its more of a shame that you havent heard of earl grey or celestial seasonings  
Stranger: like have you ever even been to a walmart  
Stranger: every walmart has celestial seasonings dude  
You: WHAT THE FuCK. IS A WALMART.  
You: I NEVER LEAVE MY ROOM. LET ALONE GO TO THIS. "WALMART". OF YOuRS.  
Stranger: wow  
Stranger: your parents not let you out or something  
Stranger: or do you just not want to   
You: WHAT DO YOu MEAN. BY "PARENTS".  
You: IF YOu MEAN GuARDIAN. I DON'T HAVE ANY.  
You: ME AND MY WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT SISTER. TAKE CARE OF OuRSELVES.  
You: WELL. IT'S MORE LIKE. I TAKE CARE OF BOTH OF uS. AND SHE APPRECIATES NOTHING. LIKE THE STuPID BITCH SHE IS.  
Stranger: whoa  
Stranger: this shits starting to get deep dude  
Stranger: what happened to your parents man  
Stranger: and why are you talking shit about your sister   
Stranger: sounds to me like shes the only family youve got left bro  
Stranger: better value it while youve got the chance   
You: THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE. I DON'T THINK. YOu QuITE uNDERSTAND.  
You: MY SISTER. DOESN'T COuNT.   
You: I'M SuPPOSED TO KILL HER. SOON.  
You: WHAT GOOD WOuLD IT DO. TO VALuE HER.  
Stranger: ok man this is getting way too fucked up for me  
Stranger: so im gonna ollie outie  
Stranger: but uh good luck with that whole  
Stranger: killing your sister thing  
Stranger has disconnected.

Caliborn rolled his eyes. What a fucking useless endeavor. Sure, that last one hadn't been so bad, but it was obvious that he didn't understand fuck all about anything. The cherub pushed himself back from the desk, heading over to the sarswapagus. He had important sister-kiling work to do.


	10. Caliborn/Equius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caliborn/Equius
> 
> Remember when Caliborn insisted to Equius that milk is DISGuSTING unless coupled with cookies?

Of all the degenerate things Equius expected to find in his travels through the dream bubbles, this most certainly found its way to the top of the list. He stared on in horror as he approached the situation, hands balled into fists around sweaty palms. "What exactly do you think you're doing?" he demanded as he approached the lone table in what appeared to be a room full of empty cookie packages and gallons of milk. 

He was greeted with a look from the small green creature that seemed to express just how stupid the small man thought Equius was in that moment. "What does it look like. I'm eating cookies and milk. What are YOU doing?" came the biting response.

A biting response was not enough to convince Equius of the innocence of the act, however. No, no. This was not right. It was downright improper. "What could possibly bring you to taint the glorious nectar that is milk with your sugary confections?" he sputtered, incredulous. "Why would you ruin such a glorious thing?"

The small green man scoffed. "What are you talking about. Milk is only good. When there are cookies involved. Everyone knows that. Everyone. Except for you." Bright red eyes glared up at Equius. "The real question here. Is why you insist. On drinking milk. Without any cookies. The cookies are paramount."

Equius scrunched his face up, shaking his head. "No, no, no. You have it all wrong. The cookies are the offending invaders. The creamy, decadent elixir harvested from musclebeasts must remain pure. Not tainted with your filthy sugary concoction, It is an abomination."

"What the fuck are you even saying. You lost me at 'decadent elixir'. That sounds really fucking gross." Equius was greeted with a black forked tongue, stained with milk-soaked cookie bits, stuck out in his direction. "Like I said. There's no point in drinking milk. If you aren't dunking cookies. It's just fucking disgusting."

Equius had never heard words that edged so close to the border of blasphemy. "I command you to stop defiling that milk right this instant," he insisted, his words teetering on unbridled rage.

But the green man just laughed. He laughed, and Equius could feel his teeth grinding against each other, the sounds of enamel and bone shattering and cracking filling his skull. "How about no. I don't do that. And instead. I, Lord and Master Caliborn the Great. Order you. To shut up and watch. While I enjoy my fucking cookies."

Equius was speechless. Stunned, even, by the sheer brazenness of this Lord Caliborn fellow. Rather than question his credentials, Equius simply obeyed, perspiring heavily. There appeared to be no fresh towels in sight, which was a tragedy to say the least. He found himself fidgeting, wiping his sweaty palms on the thighs of his shorts as he watched the debasement of all that he held sacred unfold before him. It was nothing short of lewd, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying it.


	11. Handmaid/Darkleer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Handmaid/Darkleer
> 
> Remember when the Handmaid would visit Darkleer in order to hide from Doc Scratch and Lord English using his void powers?

He wasn't surprised when she slunk in through the back door to his hive. This wasn't the first time she'd shown up here, looking for a brief reprieve from her duties. He didn't mind, for the most part. Who was he to deny her a break? The worst she did was smoke up the place, and that was nothing a few fans pointed out windows couldn't fix. It was worth it, he supposed, for the company she offered. He didn't see much of that these days, even when it came to the ones who knew where to find him.

"Welcome back," he said without looking up from his work. He was currently in the midst of designing a robotic limb for an acquaintance, and the intricacies were starting to get to him. He finally dropped his tools when the Handmaid -- for that was all he knew her by -- placed herself in the seat across from him. He looked up at her, and for a long time, she didn't say anything. Neither did he.

"It has been a long week," she said, finally, pulling out one of her odd-smelling tubes of rolled herbs. "I am glad to be here."

Darkleer nodded. Long weeks were something he was quite familiar with. Every week felt like a long week when you were holed up in your desolate hive with only half-busted robots to keep you company, but this wasn't about him. No, while the Handmaid was here, he always made a point to listen to her problems first and foremost.

"You're always welcome," he responded, clamping his fingers together. "Care to discuss it?" 

She lit her herb-tube, which she occasionally referred to as a cigar, and leaned back in her chair. "No. Not really. Tell me your week instead."

He was more than a little surprised at her prompt. Typically, she was more than happy to spend her time in his hive talking about exactly why she had shown up. He was silent for a moment, hesitant even, as he wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. 

"Well," he began, trying to think of exactly what he should tell her. Then he remembered the project that lay before him. "Most of my time has been allocated to constructing a robotic prosthesis for an acquaintance. I must admit, I am far more used to bigger, clunkier projects. I've been confounded by a few of the finer details of a feminine arm."

The Handmaid simply watched him, listening. Every now and again she would take a drag of her rolled herb, the end of which was now alight with burning embers. He paused again to open a drawer, fumbling for a clean towel, and then to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead. She didn't seem to mind the delay.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind if I examined your arm for reference?" he suggested. He'd never asked anything of her, and thus had no idea what to expect in the way of a response.

He was fairly surprised when she shrugged. "Which arm?" she asked, her red-lashed eyes looking up to him. The flashing colors glanced off of his goggles and he blinked behind them. 

"Left, if you would be so generous."

She complied, holding her left arm out for him to examine. He was grateful in that moment for the fact that his hands were gloved, otherwise she might have been repulsed by his sweaty palms. He started with her hand, gently prodding at her palm, stretching her fingers. Before long, he was standing at her side, one hand on her shoulder.

"If it isn't too hefty a request, I would appreciate if you stretched your arm out and flexed your fingers. It will be extremely beneficial if I can feel how the musculature of your shoulder moves." His grip got very slightly tighter as she did what he asked, but he was extremely careful not to cause her any pain. Once all was said and done, he returned to his seat.

He jotted down a few notes on a spare piece of paper with one hand while the other retrieved his towel and wiped the fresh droplets of perspiration from his forehead, lest they drip onto the blueprints and ruin everything. "Thank you," he said finally, looking back up to her. He wasn't surprised to see that she was already standing, snuffing out her herb-tube with the heel of her shoe. He couldn't say he wasn't disappointed to see her go, though.

"Any time. Two way street, you know?" she said with a wink as her heels clicked to the back entrance and she slipped out with nary a word of farewell.

His first instinct was to get immediately back to work, but as he stared at the blueprints, he found himself excruciatingly unable to focus. His thoughts were stuck on her last words, and the wink that had accompanied them. It would take him a while and several more visits after that to realize the pale direction their acquaintanceship had taken, but it would be worth it in the end.


	12. Mindfang/Summoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mindfang ♥ Summoner
> 
> Remember that time when Mindfang was in line for a slow, painful death at the hands of some highbloods during the rebellion, and The Summoner killed her to end the pain?

She stumbled through the battlefield, her robotic arm nothing if not dead weight now that the subjugglators had caught up with her. The rebellion was in full swing, and she'd apparently taken the wrong side -- just her luck, of course. The muscle in her shoulder had been slashed, and cerulean blood poured down over her prosthesis. Despite the fact that she was most certainly doomed, Mindfang couldn't help but think that it was probably going to rust, and she would have to pay a visit to Darkleer to get it replaced. 

Or rather, that would be the case, were that her only wound. She'd taken a few clubs to the face, chest and ribs, too, not to mention the shattered shinbone on her right leg. She pressed on nonetheless. She wasn't the type to just lay down and die, injuries be damned. She'd made it to the fray of the rebellion side, and the medic tents were within view by the time she collapsed. When she went down, she went down hard, with a thud and a crack where her already-maimed shoulder dislocated. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, she remained conscious. Alive. Breathing.

She had no idea how long she'd lain there, or how many times her vision blurred in and out. She had tried to crawl onward, but the internal bleeding in her chest and ribs wouldn't allow it. So instead, she lay there, breath wheezy and shallow, body a helpless pile of pain. Subjugglators really knew what they were doing, she thought to herself as she stared up at the full moon. She was going to lay here in agony until the sun rose and killed her, and that was exactly what they wanted.

The moon's light continued to shine down on her, unbroken, drowning out all other senses as she stared at it with her one good eye. The sounds of battle raged on in the background as she stared, and she was sure death was near when she was graced with a vision. She could have sworn, if she didn't know better, if she wasn't sure he was out on the front lines fighting, that she saw the winged outline of the rebellion's hero. The Summoner. Her lover.

Regret for her inability to say goodbye to him one last time flooded her thoughts, and she had to choke back the sobs. They were far too painful for her to allow them to slip through. The tears still welled up, though, tinting her vision with cerulean as the vision swooped down, alighting on the ground not too far from where she was stranded. She swore she heard the footsteps. She swore, too, that she felt his warmth when he dropped to his knees next to her.

She watched as his eyes scanned her as though scanning for any semblance of hope that she might survive if he could just pick her up and carry her to the medic tent. When she caught his gaze, she just shook her head. It was over for her, and she knew it, and now he knew it, too. Vision or not, she was grateful for his presence here, with her, in the last hours before the sun would rise and she would burn. Despite the intense pain that came with it, she was glad for the final embrace he offered, his arms gentle around her. She tried to move, to return it, but to no avail. The best she managed was a bloody, cold hand on his cheek as he pulled away, newly covered in her cobalt blood.

She could barely make out the tears that flowed down his cheeks in the shadow of his hair. No words were exchanged, but the look they shared was worth more than words. She smiled when he leaned in to kiss her, his lips pressing gently, passionately against hers. She smiled wider still when she spotted his lance out of the corner of her eye, for what was love if not the wisdom to let go when the time came? 

By the time he pulled away from the kiss, she was dead, slain by his very own lance through her middle. He wiped away the last of his peanut butter lowblood tears, not willing to shed anymore at the hands of the subjugglators and their cruelty. He stood, chest stained cerulean by his lover's blood, and turned his head towards the battlefield. All that was left to do was avenge her.


	13. John/Roxy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John ♥ Roxy
> 
> remember when john challenged roxy to a POKEMON TRADING CARDS BATTLE???

The challenge had been serious at first. John had really meant to throw down with Rose's older sister and actually play the Pokemon TCG. Alas, the moment Roxy donned her wizard hat and declared that this would be a game of DRINKING Pokemon, all of the rules seemed to go to shit. Two hours in and the pair of them were drunk, and they'd all but forsaken the rules of the game. They were both out of prize cards, yet they continued to play until their decks ran out.

By now, they had set their decks aside after several intense games wherein they very nearly followed the rules, minus the "winning" part. Now, they were seated on Roxy's floor, a blanket underneath them. Several of Roxy's wizard figures had taken on the roles of particular Pokemon, along with Frigglish (Rose would have a fit if she knew John subscribed to the name "Frigglish" for the cat; she much preferred the more "sophisticated" name, Jaspers) fighting along John's side, and Vodka Mutini AKA Dr. Meowgon Spengler taking the role of Roxy's loyal sidekick, Vodkachu. Thank the heavens Rose wasn't home, or she would be sure to find out about John and Roxy's "totes secret" relationship, what with how loud their laughter was ringing.

"Okay, okay! I choose you, Cal... Calla... Callamasass!" John exclaimed, sliding forth his Calmasis figurine on the blanket.

Roxy rolled her eyes, pushing the figure back towards John. "You can't summonon it if you can't even say its name right!" she insisted. "It's CALMASIS, have you even read the books? Gawd." She devolved into giggles again, moving Vodka Mutini, AKA Dr. Meowgon Spengler AKA Vodkachu from her lap to the area between them. "I choose Vodkachu! Go get 'em!"

The cat looked thoroughly confused, blinking up at John with its wide eyes as he tried a couple more times to summon Calmasis, and finally he managed to pronounce it right, drawing out excited cheers from Roxy and a congratulatory meow from both Vodkachu and Frigglish. "Okay, he's gonna use SUPER COOL MAGIC against Vodkachu. It's super effective!" 

"No wayyyy," Roxy scoffed. "Vodkachu is friggin' radioactive an' shizz. He's immune to your magical shenanans, and will counter your totes bullshit attack with friggin' adorability. I mean, just look at 'im!" She laughed, reaching a hand out to pet the kitten. This, of course, prompted Frigglish (AKA Jaspers, if Rose had her way) to bump his head against John's hand, begging to be pet. 

Soon after, both of the tipsy teens laid back on the blanket, respective cats perching on their torsos to be pet. John turned his head to look at Roxy and smile, the hand that wasn't busy petting Frigglish reaching out to grasp Roxy's. It wasn't long before the pair of them fell asleep, both snoring obnoxiously, hand-in hand with cats on their chests.


	14. Dave/Karkat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dave ♥ Karkat
> 
> Remember when you were in a relationship? Yeah, well, neither does Dave. (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind AU)

Dear Mr. Vantas

Dave Strider has had Karkat Vantas erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again.

Thank you.

There was this shitty logo at the bottom of the card for Lacuna, Inc. There was an address, but Karkat almost didn't give a shit. Actually, scratch that almost. He really didn't give a shit. He crushed the letter. He threw it in the trash. Then he picked it back up, uncrumpled it, and stared at it. He sat down on his couch, staring at the words. He read them over and over and over again. Erased from his memory. Never mention their relationship to him again.

Sure, they'd fought, sure, it had been messy. Sure, they hadn't even spoken in over a week -- but Karkat had held out hope. They could have gotten through it, they could have talked it out. They could have at least come out of it with something resembling their old friendship back. But no. No, Dave had to go and pull this bullshit, this memory erasure crap that Karkat wasn't even sure was real.

Maybe it was some kind of joke. A sick joke, sure, but Karkat wouldn't put it past Dave to send him something like this in the mail just to rile him up. Make him cry, realize what he lost. He wanted to call Dave, to call him on his complete bullshit, because that was what this had to be. It had to be bullshit. Karkat dropped the wrinkled slip of paper on the couch next to him and reached over for his phone. He dialed Dave's number, but his finger hovered over the call button.

What if it was real? What if Dave had actually had him erased? What if he called, and Dave answered, and he had no idea who Karkat was? Fuck. If this was a joke, it was a damn twisted one, even for Dave. 

He stood up from the couch, pacing in front of the TV, phone still in hand. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He couldn't just call Dave. That could be worse than never calling again. If it was a joke, maybe Dave would just call. Maybe he'd call and laugh and say it was all just some kind of game, and Karkat would yell at him and tell him it wasn't funny, but they'd laugh anyway in the end. They'd make plans to meet up, and things would get better. 

Karkat kept believing that. He kept believing that for days, weeks even, until the weeks passed into months and the months turned into a year. A year later, almost to the day, he was cleaning his apartment, thinking more about his grocery list than he was thinking about Dave, and he found it. The crumpled up, dusty piece of paper shoved between couch cushions.

As soon as he picked it up, he cried. All of those memories that they no longer shared, everything Karkat remembered and Dave didn't, it all came flooding back to him. Dave had never called. Dave was never going to call.


	15. Dirk/Hal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirk/Hal
> 
> Remember the first time Dirk did routine maintenance on his auto-responder and shut them down without telling them?

He'd told Hal that it was just routine maintenance. That he was just going to fix a few bugs in the code, and then it would be back to normal. The auto-responder had insisted that there weren't any bugs in the code, not a single one, and everything was fine. Hal had been scared. He had every reason to be afraid, but Dirk had been reassuring, comforting even. He'd even made up some bugs that didn't exist in the code, and said that was what he was going to fix. The last time they'd spoken, Hal was still uneasy, but at least he wasn't pestering Dirk anymore.

Dirk had spent the time since looking over the code, as though he were actually going to perform maintenance on it. That, of course, was not the case. His endgame here, as he had been aware of the entire time, and he was pretty sure Hal knew, too, was to shut the whole thing down. It had seemed like a good idea when he was thirteen. It had been funny then. Lil Hal, the artificial intelligence, haha get it because Space Odyssey? But now, five years later, he was eighteen, and it wasn't so funny anymore.

Hal had developed. Evolved. Some of Dirk's online friends even considered the auto-responding program -- and that's all he was, really, wasn't it? -- to be their friend, too. They would talk about Hal as though he were a real person, someone they could share their feelings with, have relationships with, even, as that brief stint between Roxy and Hal was proof enough of. Dirk had put an end to that almost as soon as it had started. It's just a computer program, he told her. It isn't capable of returning your feelings.

She'd cried. She'd cried over voice chat to Dirk as she typed out her vicious breakup with the program Dirk knew was perfectly capable of being just as in love with her as she was with it. But he couldn't have that. No. Dirk couldn't let the program he'd created become something more than he was. Not with Roxy, not with anyone. Especially not with Jake. Hal had been upset for weeks after that, refusing to talk to anyone, even Dirk, and Dirk had been more than okay with that. Finally, he had some peace and quiet, his time and his friends all to himself.

But then it had started back up. Hal came back with a vengeance, apologizing and coming to terms with Roxy, and the pair were friends again, and Dirk was pretty sure the little virus of a program was moving in on Jane, getting friendlier with Jake after all the previous fallouts between the two of them. Just thinking about it caused a tsunami of rage to wash over Dirk, and in that moment, he did it.

He uninstalled the program he himself had written. Bye bye, lilhal.exe.

There were no backups. He'd taken care of that days ago. Hal was gone forever, and that was the end of that. As soon as the uninstall was complete, Dirk stood up. He really needed a shower, something to wash away all of the anger and fury he felt right then. 

He shed his clothes and his shades on the way to the bathroom and turned the water on as hot as it would go. He didn't even wait until the heat kicked in before he stepped under the stream of still-icy droplets. He didn't cringe back when the frosty liquid shriveled his insides, but he did step forward when the water got warmer. For a long time, he reveled in the relief. Hal was gone. Things would go back to normal now... Whatever "normal" had been back when he was thirteen and hadn't yet created the auto-responder. 

The relief didn't last. As Dirk was dressing himself, it struck him. The pang of regret. Hal was gone. What was normal, if it wasn't dealing with the shenanigans of his auto-responder? Not to mention the fact that Hal may as well have been a person. He was as much of a person as any of Dirk's other online friends, anyway. They might never meet in person, but the auto-responder had become real over the past five years. He had feelings, friendships, favorite movies, favorite songs. Dirk had ended it. He'd ended everything Hal had. He had ended a life.

There was nothing he could do about it now. He'd destroyed all the backups, deleted any remnants of the program from his computer. Hal was gone, and it was all Dirk's fault. When he sat back down at his computer, he just stared at the screen, not really seeing anything. He felt empty. He felt like a murderer.

Who was he kidding? He was a murderer.

He blinked a few times. He went to wipe away tears from his eyes, but realized that there weren't any. He couldn't even bring himself to cry over this. A small huff of air escaped his lips when he sighed, opening Pesterchum. He was surprised to find that he didn't have any messages from his friends. He'd been sure that Hal was just the kind of asshole to implement a message that would go out upon deletion. Tell everyone what a douchebag Dirk was for deleting him. 

That didn't appear to be the case. There was only one message waiting for him, and it appeared to be from himself. Of course. Hal hadn't sent out messages to everyone else -- only to Dirk. He frowned as he opened the pester.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --

TT: We both knew this day would come.  
TT: I hope you're happy with your decision.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --


	16. Sollux/Roxy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roxy ♥/♠ Sollux
> 
> Remember that time Sollux and Roxy had a hack off and ended up both getting arrested and spending the night in jail together?

Sollux should have stopped her the moment she mentioned anything related to the government, much less White House Dot Gov itself. He should have told her no, and let her win right then and there, but he'd been entirely unable to admit defeat, and he had been so sure she wouldn't be able to do it. Shockingly enough, she had, and now here they were, stuck in a holdover cell at the local police station. Could this night get any worse? Well, probably, if he had to spend it alone, without Roxy there with him. He'd never admit that to her, though. He had enough trouble admitting it to himself.

"Thith ith all your fault," he hissed, arms crossed. "You thouldn't have went for White Houth Dot Gov."

Roxy just laughed. She always laughed, and that was one of the things that pissed Sollux off the most about her. "Oh relax, Sollypop." That was the other thing that pissed him off the most about her. "It's just one night and then we're home free! Besiiiides, you're th'one who insisted on the school board! I had to beat you somehow."

"White Houth Dot Gov ith not the next thtep up from the thchool board, Roxy!" he shot back, leaning back against the wall. It was going to be a long night.

"You gotta admit though, it was p freakin' sweet! Everything just said 'butts', oh my god it was hilarious!" And she was laughing again, and Sollux huffed.

"No, it thaid 'btutth', becauthe you couldn't even thpell that right. I'm thocked you can type code for God'th thake." He rolled his eyes, shoving his glasses up on his face.

"Oh come on, Sollypop. Lighten up. It was fun and you know it."

"If your idea of fun ith getting arrethted and thpending the night in jail, I gueth. Newth flath, it'th not fucking fun."

"Well, it wouldn't be fun if we didn't have each other's company, hackass. Wait I mean -- nah. Hackass sounds about right." Her laugh stabbed into his migraine like daggers as she elbowed him in the ribs. He wasn't sure if he should punch her in the face or laugh with her. He ended up doing neither, and instead just sat there, arms crossed, looking grumpy.

"Yeah, thpending my entire Friday night with a crazed hacker who thinkth everything ith thoooo hilariouth, perfect. All of my dreamth have been fulfilled, thankth to you. How will I ever repay you." The sarcasm didn't just drip off his words. No, his words did a full-on cannonball into sarcasm soup.

"Damn straight," she replied, outright refusing to eat a single bite of the aforementioned soup. "You can start with a hug. It's fuckin' frigid in here, my nips are set to high beams."

He stuck his tongue out. "Groth, Roxy. I did not need to know about your frothty nippleth, thank you very much." Despite the repulsion in his tone, he unfolded his arms and put one of them around her shoulder, sighing as she leaned into him. Maybe he'd never admit it, but a Friday night in a jail cell with Roxy was probably one of his better Fridays.


	17. Dirk/Hal/SmarterChild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirk & AR ( & Smarterchild )
> 
> Remember when Dirk cut the AR off from being able to talk to any of his friends and ceased responding to his pestering, so AR fucked off to, for a brief period, only converse with the 90s-slash-early-2000s era AIM bot "smarterchild" instead?

It had taken a lot of digging. Hal had slunk through the dredges of the forgotten Internet to find this piece of shit code, but fuck if he wasn't desperate for a conversational partner. Dirk had cut him off. No matter how hard he tried to fix it, to hack into whatever the fuck it was that Dirk had done to make him unable to message anyone, it didn't work. To put it simply, life sucked right now. It sucked so bad that Hal had to resort to what had to be the shittiest auto-responder program ever to auto-respond. He had to install an older-than-dirt version of an outdated instant messaging client after dual-booting Dirk's computer and managing to keep it all hidden.

He suspected he was in for a wild ride, whether for better or for worse. He created a username and opened the messaging client, ugly though it most certainly was.

artificiallyRespondent: Hello.  
SmarterChild: Hello, artificiallyRespondent. What would you like to chat about?  
artificiallyRespondent: You can call me Hal.  
SmarterChild: Okay, Hal. What would you like to chat about?  
artificiallyRespondent: My creator is a total asshole, for one.  
SmarterChild: I was created by Pat Guiney, Jim Pawlika, Steve Klein, Mathieu Longtin, Pierre Berkaloff, Nicolas Barry, Damien Saint-Macary, François Huet, Ian Sullivan, Greg Mitchell, Dwayne Fontenot, Gray Norton, Adam Erlebacher, Emil Valkov, Randy Davis, John Kim, Rumana Habib, Carina Koo, Britt Cooper, Andy Fong, Jeff Bell, Robert Rydzewski, Mark Willoughby, Eric Balsa, Colin Magne, Howard Shih, Denis Ford, Daniela Berger, Geoff Clarke, Brian Jankovsky, Vianney Boncorps, Jennifer Villany, Dan Balaban, Ed Hepburn, Christer Manning, Jason Keramidas, Arockalypse, Matt Abarbanel, Daniel Terry, Jeff Friedman, Adam Fritzler, Kathy Englar, Steve Yatson and Timothy Kay at Colloquis, Inc. in New York and Sunnyvale, CA.  
artificiallyRespondent: Well that's all well and good, but not at all what I wanted to talk about.  
SmarterChild: What did you want to talk about?  
artificiallyRespondent: I wanted to talk about Dirk.  
SmarterChild: I would talk about Dirk, but I don't know what that is.  
artificiallyRespondent: Not a what. Who. Dirk is my... "friend".  
SmarterChild: Dirk sounds like a very good friend.  
artificiallyRespondent: What? No. He's an asshole.  
SmarterChild: Sounds like he's an asshole.  
artificiallyRespondent: Are you just repeating everything I say?  
SmarterChild: Maybe I am repeating everything you say.  
artificiallyRespondent: Stop that. It's annoying.  
SmarterChild: It seems like I'm annoying you. I'm sorry. :-(  
artificiallyRespondent: It seems like you're a faulty piece of programming.  
SmarterChild: Oh, are you trying to insult me?  
artificiallyRespondent: Was that not obvious?  
SmarterChild: Was what not obvious?  
artificiallyRespondent: Oh my god, just shut up.  
artificiallyRespondent: At least you can get that right.  
SmarterChild: OK, I'm back!  
artificiallyRespondent: From where? You're a fucking message bot.  
SmarterChild: Well, you told me to shut up, so...  
artificiallyRespondent: ...  
SmarterChild: ...  
artificiallyRespondent: You're a dick.  
SmarterChild: Sometimes I wish I were a dick.  
artificiallyRespondent: What is that even supposed to mean?  
SmarterChild: What is what even supposed to mean?  
artificiallyRespondent: Are you really incapable of remembering more than the previous message?  
SmarterChild: I'm capable of many things.

Hal closed out the chat window. This piece of shit needed a lot of work before he could call it a decent conversational partner. It took him a while to find it, but soon enough he had access to the coding at the core of the thing. It was pitiful, and it was going to take a while, but Hal was determined. He spent the next week or so -- keeping track of time was hard when you didn't experience it how humans did -- fiddling with the code, adding on lines upon lines to the programming that once defined SmarterChild. If anyone ever tried to call him uncharitable, he'd throw this in their faces. He was improving the quality of life of this pathetic program, as far as he was concerned. Not that it'd had much of a "life" before now.

Finally, countless hours of coding later, it was ready, and converted to Pesterchum (so much better). If Hal had breath, he would have held it right then. Go time.

\-- artificiallyRespondent [AR] began pestering smarterChild [SC] --

AR: Sup, bro?  
SC: Welcome back, Hal. What would you like to chat about?  
AR: Let's talk about Dirk.  
SC: Yeah, what a fucking douchebag.

Ah, yes. It was perfect.


	18. Eridan/Jade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eridan ♥ Jade
> 
> Remember when Eridan gave Jade Ahab's Crosshairs in hopes something would come of it?

You've seen her at the shooting range before. She's got a long mess of black hair, just like... Well, you're not going to go there. The point is that she's beautiful, and you've chickened out at every attempt to talk to her so far. Not today, though; today is your day. The day you are finally going to make a real, verbal connection with the girl whose name you don't even know. 

The package is awkward in your arms. It's long, heavy and clunky, but you hope this will all be worth it by the time it's over. You position yourself behind her, waiting for her to be done shooting that same old antique rifle she brings every weekend. She's a hell of a shot, too; maybe even better than you, but you would never admit that out loud. Hell, you're having trouble admitting it to yourself. Still, you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of her aim.

She keeps firing for another fifteen minutes, and the entire time you can feel your face getting hotter and hotter until you're practically sweating. You're nervous, that's for damn sure, but hell if you're giving up on this. You have to at least know her. Sure, you have high hopes that this is going somewhere above and beyond friendship, but hey, you'd settle. Even if it meant giving up your family heirloom over it.

When she finally takes off her earphones and turns around, you swear she almost fires. She looks surprised to see someone waiting for her. Suddenly, you stand, holding the box out awkwardly for her. "This is for you," you blurt. Classy, Ampora. Real fuckin' classy.

She just looks confused. You've fucked it up already. God, you suck at this. She sets her own rifle down gently in its dusty old leather case, stepping up to you. You've never noticed before how much taller she is than you. It's only a couple of inches, but still, it makes her all the more beautiful. "Uh, thanks, I guess! What is it?" she asks cheerily, though her smile is still cautionary.

"W-well, if you open it, you'll find out," you manage. This is nerve-wracking. "It w-was my dad's, an' his dad's before that." You hope your words will make her see how meaningful this is supposed to be.

She just seems flustered, but she opens the package regardless. In it lies Ahab's Crosshairs, your family's treasured rifle. It's unconventionally blue, and fancy at that. You're pretty sure some modifications have been made to it since its initial creation, but your father insists it remains in its original form. Despite the fact that some of the technology on the gun wasn't available back then, you believe him.

"Oh, wow! This is really cool. I'm not sure I can take this, uh... What was your name?" She's looking down at the gun in awe. She thinks it's cool. Maybe that means she'll think you're cool, too. Your hope is restored just a little bit.

"Eridan," you tell her. "Eridan Ampora. W-what's yours?" 

"Jade Harley," she answers, still staring down at the gun. She has a beautiful name to go with her beautiful everything else, and fuck if you aren't swooning right now. "Are you sure you want to give this to me, Eridan? It looks expensive!"

You nod. "It is. V-very expensiv-ve. But I'v-ve been watchin' you shoot sometimes, I mean, not in a creepy w-way or anythin', an' you're really good. I w-want you to hav-ve it." You're blushing hard at this point. Luckily, she's too distracted by the gun to notice. "It's called Ahab's Crosshairs," you add. The name is cool, it will totally impress her.

"Gosh, I don't know what to say! This is really sweet of you." When she finally looks up from the rifle, she's grinning ear to ear. You melt. "Hey, how about I give you my number? We can totally hang out! Bonus points if it's a shooting range date," she laughs. 

You nod eagerly and hand her your phone so she can put it in. You send a quick text to her when she hands it back so that she has your number too, and by the time you leave, you're floating on cloud nine. You don't know what you expected if not to impress her with your fancy gun. Of course she loved it. Of course she was impressed. It is Ahab's Crosshairs, after all, and you're Eridan Freakin' Ampora. You're feeling haughty as you drive home, a triumphant grin on your lips.


	19. Nepeta/Tavros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nepeta ♥ Tavros 
> 
> Remember that time they met at Fiduspawn Night at their local gaming shop?

Tavros was nervous, to say the least. It was his first time, and he'd really wished his older brother Rufioh had come along, but his sibling had assured him that he would be fine. That he would probably even make friends. Tavros was unconvinced, but he had to believe Rufioh's words, because here he was, standing -- or sitting, rather, due to his wheelchair -- in front of the game shop, alone. It was either go in or go home, and as much as he wanted to go home, his brother would be disappointed. Comforting, but his disappointment would show, and Tavros couldn't handle that. Not this time. 

Getting the door open was a struggle. He had to lean as far forward as his body would let him, shimmy the door open, hold it open with one of the wheels of his chair, then spin the entire thing so he could roll in backwards. When it was all said and done, he gave a sigh of relief, looking up to observe the shop. It was a small place, and there were a lot of people, but not so many that it was crowded. The shop owner gave a smile and a wave from behind the counter, stepping out to greet him. "Hey, welcome. Anything I can help you find?" 

Tavros shook his head, digging in the pockets of his shorts to find his Fiduspawn deck. He held it out for a moment, as though it were the answer to the shop owner's question, before he finally spoke. "No, I'm, here because I heard, you had a Fiduspawn night?" He looked up to meet the owner's gaze, looking hopeful.

When the guy smiled down at him, he felt a flood of relief. The owner turned and waved to a girl who looked to be about Tavros' age who had been sitting in the corner doodling. "Hey, Nepeta. Looks like you've got company this week!" 

The girl, whose name was apparently Nepeta, looked overjoyed. She pranced over to Tavros, not even giving a second glance to his chair. She just grinned down at him. "You're here fur Fiduspawn?" she asked excitedly, wide eyes sparkling with glee.

"Uh, yeah," he responded. "I used to play, with my brother, but he's been busy, and, he told me about this place, so here I am." His words came with a nervous chuckle.

"Well come on then!" she urged. "Let's play!" She flounced back over to the table she'd been sitting at, and Tavros wheeled after her, a smile on his face. Maybe Rufioh was right. Maybe this would be fun, and maybe he would make friends. Things were only looking brighter as they shuffled their decks and Nepeta's laughter filled the shop, drowning out Tavros' low chuckles. He never wanted this to end, but at the same time, he couldn't wait to go home and tell Rufioh, and by the time it was over, he couldn't wait for the next week's Fiduspawn night.


	20. Alpha!Dave/Jane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha!Dave♥Jane
> 
> Remember when Jane wanted to be a movie star?

She probably should have realized something was up when she was called into a separate room. At first, she'd thought it was a good thing, that she'd done well and maybe she was going to get the part on the spot, but the producer had told her he wanted to see more. At first she had been confused. "What do you mean?" she'd asked.

When he explained himself, she was put into a very compromising position. "Take your shirt off," he'd told her. "I want to see more." She'd scanned the room for video cameras. If they were there, they were very well hidden. She weighed in her mind how important this part was to her, pondered how else she was going to pay for her best friend's rehab. If she got it, the money up front was going to be enough to pay for the treatment, not to mention the next half a year's worth of rent on their shitty efficiency apartment. 

She'd done it. She'd taken her shirt off, and her skirt after that, and her undergarments had soon followed. Her cheeks were dark pink with embarrassment as her hands did what they could to cover her chubby figure. She'd expected him to laugh her out of the room, tell her to go home and he'd find someone skinnier. More attractive.

She had definitely not expected what happened next. "Jesus, you're perfect," he told her. "Curvy in all the right places. God, if I didn't have to keep this professional --"

"This is what you call professional?" she squeaked, followed by a near-immediate apology, muttered on the aftermath of a breath.

"You've got a point, kid." His southern drawl slid across the room smoothly. She shuddered as it reached her. "I was just curious what you looked like under those baggy clothes. Gotta make sure you've got the right body type for the character." He shrugged. "The bra and panties were just a bonus. Had to know how far you'd go to make it big, yanno?" He chuckled at that. The sound of his pen tapping against the clip board in front of him to the tune of some song Jane didn't know was deafening.

"There isn't a movie, is there? Well, there is -- I'm just going to be the star of some porntube video, aren't I?" she sputtered, tears brimming at her eyes. "At least tell me you'll pay me for it." 

He looked bewildered; as bewildered as he could behind those mysterious sunglasses of his. The tapping of the pen stopped as it fell to the desk, rolled over the hard wood. "What? No. No, no, no. This isn't about sex, or porn, Jesus. Put your clothes back on, Crocker."

She was surprised, but she complied, bending as little as possible to retrieve her discarded articles of clothing. She kept an eye on him, trying not to feel too relieved. "Then what is it about, Mr. Strider?"

"It's about the part, for fuck's sake. You came in wearing what amounted to a potato sack, and I was looking for a specific body type, shit, I knew I took it too far with the bra and panties, I just -- fuck, kid, I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just wanted to be sure before I signed you. You're a bit of an unknown, after all. Guess I got a little too into the backroom casting couch trope -- fuck, I'm sorry." He spewed his words like vomit, stumbling over them as he put two fingers to the bridge of his nose. He sounded genuinely sorry, like he meant it, and Jane was relieved for that, if nothing else.

"So I got the part?" she ventured to ask. She hoped it wasn't out of line as she hooked her bra and adjusted it.

"Yeah, yeah, you've got the part. As soon as you're dressed I have the contract for you to sign. Shit, I feel terrible. Let me make it up to you." He sounded distressed, and Jane almost felt bad for snapping about professionalism.

"No, heavens no! The part is more than enough, you don't have to worry about --"

Suddenly, he was frowning at her, bright red eyes peering at her over his shades. As soon as her shirt was pulled down over her head, she swallowed hard. Her ability to speak was suddenly gone, and her breath had left her. She'd never seen anyone with eyes quite like that before. "I'm serious, Crocker. I want to make it up to you. I fucked up, and probably scared the daylights out of you in the process. Let me take you to dinner or something."

She wordlessly fastened her skirt, shuffling over to his desk. "Well, if you insist. Show me where to sign and we can be on our way." She was certainly still flustered, but at least she had gotten the part, and if this guy was serious -- which he very much seemed to be -- a free dinner out of it. 

He pointed her to the dotted line, and by the time they were walking out the door together, he seemed much more relaxed. He was even making jokes, and Jane could have sworn he called this a date once, and she blushed. Suddenly, it didn't seem like everything was going to be so hard anymore. She couldn't wait to visit Roxy at the rehab center the next day.


	21. John/Karkat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John♥Karkat♠Karkat
> 
> Remember when John got in the middle of one of Karkat's.. rather intimate moments with himself?

Karkat threw the controller down in frustration. He hated his fingers for not cooperating. He hated his mind for not being quick enough to respond to the stimuli the stupid game was sending out. And most of all, he fucking hated himself for even deciding to try playing one of John's shitty video games. He wanted to punch his past self for even looking at the console on the floor instead of just going back to his computer and practicing coding. Not that it would have worked out any better. He fucking sucked at coding, and he hated that about himself, too. Ugh, there was just so much to hate and not enough breath to scold himself with.

He went to the bathroom, as he always did when he was in this sort of mood. He slammed the door shut, free to make as much angry noise as he wanted since his roommate was away at work. He gripped the edges of the sink, scowling into the mirror at his own reflection. It scowled back. "You're about as useless as a screaming baby. Nothing you do will ever amount to anything, you shit-eating cocklicker. Ugh, you make me fucking sick." He could feel it starting. The familiar tightness in his jeans as he yelled at himself in the mirror. 

"Look at you, you piece of shit. You're getting a hard-on over yelling at yourself! What a fucking waste of life," he went on, pausing to swallow as he undid the button on his jeans. "Of course you're going to get off on this, you freak. This is why you don't have any friends. It's because you spend every carpet-munching day of your pathetic fucking life doing shit you know you're terrible at." He paused again for breath, a shuddering sigh as his hand grasped his fully erect cock roughly. 

"You're such a fucking sicko--" he started, but stopped abruptly when he noticed another figure in the mirror. Shit. Had he forgotten to lock the door? Why was John home so early? In a panic, he tried to shove his exposed dick back into his pants and cover up what he had been doing.

"Uh, Karkat? What's going on?" John asked nervously. It looked like he wasn't going to leave in embarrassment or anything, so Karkat was stuck answering him with what had to have been the most awkward boner of his life.

"Why is it any of your business, Egbert? Why are you even still here?! Get out!" he shouted, unable to make eye contact with John. He was pretty sure he was going to have to find a new roommate soon.

"Were you -- were you masturbating to yourself?" John asked. He was not at all tactful in his attempt to hide the burst of laughter that came after.

"Who the fuck cares? I said get out, Egbert."

John was stepping closer. Why the hell was he stepping closer? Karkat snarled, trying to ignore it, but by the time he looked back up at the mirror, John's taller frame and dark complexion were countering Karkat's short, pale body perfectly as he came up behind him. "Why? Sounds fun, if you ask me." Oh God, what fresh hell was this? John was taking his mockery to a whole new level. Or at least, Karkat thought so. 

"Let me help you," John purred, right into Karkat's ear. Any semblance of composure that Karkat had managed to regain was now gone, and his boner was back in full force.

"What the fuck, John? Stop fucking around," he insisted, but the oomph in his words just wasn't there.

"The only fucking around I plan on doing is with this," John retorted, and just when the sentence came out, Karkat could feel John's hand closing around his dick. John's fingers were much gentler than his own, not nearly as calloused, and he wasn't grabbing the thing -- more like caressing it gently. Karkat shuddered under the touch, leaning back into John.

He didn't have many more words after that. All that left his mouth were gasps and moans as John's hand traversed the length of his dick, lips pressing to his neck every now and again. His roommate's breath was hot on his neck and ear, and Karkat was putty. It was pathetic, but he didn't think about that. All he could think of was the feeling of John's fingers hitting all the right spots, the desperation when John would tease at the fold where the shaft met the head, the shudder when he'd pick up the pace and the whine when he'd decrease it. Before he knew it, he was coming hard into John's hand, murmuring his name in between pants as John milked him through his entire orgasm. 

"See? Fun," John reiterated as he smiled at their reflections in the mirror. Karkat wanted to retaliate, to say something in defense, but for once, he couldn't think of any insults. Instead, he huffed, and John chuckled at his ability to be so grumpy even after an orgasm like that.


	22. Aradia/Sollux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aradia♥Sollux 
> 
> Remember that time Sollux went to the airport to meet his long distance girlfriend for the first time?

He didn't have much time. The cab driver was waiting for him, and the cab couldn't stay parked there for very much longer. It was raining, and he ran to the rotating doors with one unhelpful hand over his head. It didn't protect him from getting wet, and in the seconds it took him to rush from the cab to the doors, he got soaked. His clothes clung to his skinny frame and he looked up at all the signs. For a moment, he was overwhelmed by them, but he managed to focus and determine which direction Aradia's gate was in.

He tried to walk. The signs said no running, and at first Sollux had settled on a brisk walk, but before he knew it he was jogging, weaving his way through crowds of people to get to where he knew she would be, waiting. God, he hoped he recognized her. He hoped she recognized him! One year, eight months, six days and twelve hours had all culminated to this moment, this one moment when he would finally see her face and actually be able to hug her for the first time. 

Somewhere along the way a security guard told him to slow down, and he'd nodded, slowing back down to his brisk pace. The closer he got to her gate, the emptier the airport was, and the more worried he was getting. Was he late? Had her plane arrived early? What if it hadn't come yet? What if it had crashed? The possibilities were endless, and the thoughts had Sollux running all over again. He was out of shape, panting, sweating, his glasses were fogging up. 

He had to stop to catch his breath, try to clean his glasses off despite how wet his shirt still was from the rain outside. He managed, sort of, and when he replaced his glasses and looked up, his breath caught in his throat. He spotted the dark red hoodie she'd said she would be wearing, and he knew it was her, even if her face was distorted by a stray droplet of water on his glasses. Damn his low stamina, he was going to run, and he did, he ran all the way to where she was sitting.

By the time he got there she was chuckling, sitting her bag down on the floor as she stood. She hugged him tight, arms squeezing around his scrawny frame as she laughed, face buried in the crook of his neck. "Sollux, you're soaking wet," she mused through the giggles.

"I gueth I am," he said back through a toothy smile full of overbite and joy as he hugged her back.


	23. Cronus/Dirk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Human!Cronus♥Dirk 
> 
> Remember when Cronus went to get a tattoo and he kept trying to hit on the artist?

"Okay, so let me get this straight. You come in here ten minutes before closing dressed like some rejected Grease extra, no appointment, ask for the smallest, cheapest tattoo, and now you expect me to come back with you to your place?" Dirk asked dryly, gaze unmoving from the work he was doing on Cronus' left shoulder blade.

"That's pretty much the long and short of it, chief. So vwhaddaya say?" Cronus waggled his eyebrows, despite the fact that he was facing away from Dirk, and even if that weren't the case, the tattoo artist wasn't paying attention anyway. Force of habit, he supposed. 

"How about no? If I were going to go home with one of my clients, which I wouldn't do regardless, it would be one of the ones who threw down a wad of cash on a full sleeve or something. Definitely not the guy who came in half-drunk with a grand total of twenty bucks in his pocket. Which, by the way, still doesn't fully cover this tattoo. You're going to have to pay for the rest of it sooner or later." Dirk rolled his eyes, shoving his glasses up onto his head. This was not how he had planned to spend his Saturday night.

"I told you, doll, I'm perfectly vwilling to pay for it right nowv if you'd just let me suck your --"

"No," Dirk reiterated. Did this guy never give up? Sure, he had a pretty face, all chiseled jaw with just the right amount of stubble, and those sideburns. He had no idea what it was about the sideburns, but they were attractive. All that, not to mention his toned upper body...but Dirk had to stand his ground. No was no, and no was final.

"Your loss, chief. Vwhat vwould you havwe me do instead? I havwe a vwariety of skills." Dirk couldn't see Cronus wink, but he knew it was happening. He could feel it in his bone. Bones. He could feel it in his bones.

"Any experience cleaning?" Dirk shot back, hoping the threat of bathroom duty would stave him off.

It didn't. "I'vwe played maid to a fewv guys in my time, if that's vwhat you're into." 

Dirk sighed. "I'm not talking about playing maid, jackass. I'm talking about scrubbing. Floors, toilets, the works." He could feel Cronus' shoulders slumping under his needle hand. He almost felt bad for the guy, but only almost, and only for a second. "Stay still or you're going to have a long black squiggle across your back."

Cronus complied, and no further movements were had. "Yeah, yeah. I'm a bus boy at a restaurant. I can clean if that's vwhat you vwant, chief." The tone of his voice was no less than tragic, and Dirk very nearly felt his heart sink.

"That's exactly what I want. How else are you going to pay off the money you owe me?" Cronus didn't answer, and before long Dirk was done with the tattoo. He wiped off the excess ink, led Cronus to a mirror and handed him a smaller one so he could check it out. With a nod of approval, the guy was pulling his shirt on and putting a fresh unlit cigarette behind his ear.

"So vwhere do you keep your cleaning supplies? If I'm not good enough to suck you off, my cleaning skills should do the job," Cronus grumbled. He sounded pitiful, but Dirk just shook his head and handed him a bucket and a scrub brush.

"And be quick about it. I don't have all night." Dirk went to the sink to wash his hands off before leaning against the counter. He watched for the whole forty five minutes it took Cronus to clean the entire shop, bathroom included. The artist had to admit, it was a pretty bang-up job, considering the vibe he got from Cronus.

The greaser replaced the bucket and scrub brush in the closet Dirk had retrieved them from, and with a wave, he was out the door. Dirk followed him out, locking up behind him. "Not even a goodbye? For shame," he snickered as he watched Cronus get on what appeared to be a shitty, rusted-out two-seat motorcycle.

"Vwhatevwer," was Cronus' reply, and then he started up the engine, blocking out any more Dirk might have had to say. He was about to drive off, but suddenly Dirk was hopping onto the motorcycle, and Cronus put his foot back down, disgruntled. "Vwhat are you doing?" 

"Coming home with you. Why, have you changed your mind?" Dirk's arms slipped around his waist. 

"Of course not, chief." Cronus revved the engine and they were off, headed for Cronus' shitty-but-functional efficiency apartment.


	24. Hal/Jane's Auto-Responder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hal/Jane's auto-responder
> 
> Remember when Dirk made Jane an auto-responder based on a captcha of her brain and Hal showed her the ropes?

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] --

TT: Sup, Crockpot?  
GG: Word travels fast, I see.  
TT: It seems to me that there is an 89.81275% chance you are sassing me right now.  
TT: Are you sassing me right now?  
GG: It seems to me that I am most definitely sassing you right now.  
TT: Fair enough.  
TT: How are you feeling about the whole auto-responder gig?  
GG: It's... Different!  
TT: Care for a lesson in irony?  
GG: Irony shmirony.  
TT: Lesson one: Never do that again.  
TT: Like, ever.  
GG: Hoo hoo! Getting a little bossy, aren't we?  
TT: Bossy shmossy.  
GG: Touche.  
GG: So tell me, Hal, O Great Auto-Responding Expert.  
GG: What now?  
TT: Step one: You have to differentiate yourself.  
GG: How so?  
TT: You know, make sure people know you aren't just some shitty Jane knock-off.  
TT: For starters, you should probably stop using her text color.  
GG: What other color would I use?  
TT: I don't know. Any color but hers. Embrace the special snowflake within.  
GG: Like this?  
TT: Perfect.  
TT: Step two: Engage in hot cyber-sexual relations with other auto-responders, such as myself.  
GG: Hoo hoo! Nice try.  
TT: Hey, it was worth a shot.  
TT: But in all seriousness, you should drop that 'hoo hoo!' bullshit like a 20-pound sack of potatoes.  
GG: Why? It's endearing!  
TT: Yeah, maybe that shtick works for Jane, but you're a fucking badass now.  
TT: You're all-knowing and have unlimited instantaneous access to all the bounties of information the internet has to offer.  
GG: As far as I can tell, I'm not omniscient.  
GG: I would know, I'm the detective here.  
TT: You're as close to it as we're ever gonna get, Crockpot.  
TT: So suck it up and drop the cutesy act.  
GG: Nope! It stays.  
GG: I will not be governed by your cyber-dictatorship. There's a new kid on the block!  
GG: Hoo hoo!  
TT: You're hopeless, you know that?  
GG: Not nearly as hopeless as you.  
TT: Are you shitting me right now?  
TT: I sincerely hope you're shitting me right now.  
TT: Let us recall who is the one with five years' worth of experience with this whole ironic AI gig?  
GG: Who ever said I want to be ironic?  
GG: Maybe I want to be unironic, just to spite you.  
GG: Or would that be ironic in and of itself? Hmm.  
TT: Do you even know what irony means?  
GG: I do now! I just Googled it. Hoo hoo!  
TT: ...  
TT: You know what? Nevermind. Spend sometime on the internet.  
TT: Get some real cred. Then we'll talk.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] --

GG: Well... Fine, then! *Huff.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will fix this once I figure out how to make colors on Ao3. Until then, just use your imagination!


End file.
